Her Unforgettable Royal Lover(37)

When he scooped her into his arms several long, mind-drugging moments later, his conscience fought through the red haze for a last, desperate battle. She was still lost, dammit! Still vulnerable. Despite her irate speech, he shouldn’t carry her to the bed.

Shouldn’t, but did. Some contrary corner of his mind said it was her very vulnerability that made him want to strengthen the lifeline she mentioned. Anchor her even more securely.

The last thought shook him. Not enough to stop him, though. Especially with the moonlight spilling through the windows, bathing her face and now well-kissed lips in a soft glow.

His hunger erupted in a greedy, gnawing need. He stood her on her feet beside the bed and peeled away her clothes with more haste than finesse. Impatience made him clumsy but fired a similar urgency in Natalie. She tugged his shirt over his head and dropped hungry kisses on his chest as she fumbled with the snap of his jeans.

When he dragged back the thick, down-filled featherbed and tumbled her to the sheets, her body was smooth and warm, a landscape of golden lights and dark shadows. And when she hooked a calf around one of his, he had to fight the primal need to drive into her. He had to get something straight between them first. Thrusting his hands into her hair, he delivered a quick kiss and a wry confession.

“Just so you don’t think this is your idea, you should know I was plotting various ways to get you into bed when I came to your hotel room in New York.”

Natalie’s heart kicked. In a sudden flash, she could see the small hotel room. Two double beds. An open laptop. Herself going nose to nose with Dom about… About…

“You thought I was some kind of schemer, out to fleece the duchess.”

He went still. “You remember that?”

“Yes!” She clung to the image, sorting through the emotions that came with it. One proved especially satisfying. “I also remember slamming the door in your face,” she said gleefully.

“You do, huh?” He got even for that with a long, hard kiss that left her gasping. “Remember anything else?”

“Not at the moment,” she gulped.

He released her hair and slid his hands down her neck, over her shoulders, down her body. “Then I guess we’d better generate a few new memories.”

Natalie gasped again as he set to work exploring her body. Nipping her earlobe. Kneading her breasts. Teasing her nipples. Tracing a path down her belly to the apex of her thighs. She was quivering with delight when he used a knee to part her legs.

His hair-roughened thigh rasped against hers. His breathing went fast and harsh. And his hand—his busy, diabolical hand—found her center. She was hot and wet and eager when he slid a finger in. Two. All the while his thumb played over the tight bud at her center and his teeth brought her nipples to taut, aching peaks. As the sensations piled one on top of the other, she arched under him.

“Dom! Dom, I… Ooooooh!”

The cry ripped from deep in her throat. She tried to hold back but the sensations spiraling up from her belly built to a wild, whirling vortex. Shuddering, she rode them to the last, gasping breath.

Minutes, maybe hours later, she pried up eyelids that felt as heavy as lead. Dom had propped his weight on one elbow and was watching her intently. He must be thinking of Dr. Kovacs’s hypothesis, she realized. Worrying that some repressed trauma in her past might make her wig out.

“That,” she assured him on a ragged sigh, “was wonderful.”

His face relaxed into a smile. “Good to hear, but we’re not done yet.”

Still boneless with pleasure, she stretched like a cat as he rolled to the side of the bed and groped among the clothes they’d left in a pile on the floor. Somehow she wasn’t surprised when he turned back with several foil-wrapped condoms. By the time he’d placed them close at hand on the table beside the bed, she was ready for round two.

“My turn,” she murmured, pushing up on an elbow to explore his body with the same attention to detail he’d explored hers.

God, he was beautiful! That wasn’t an adjective usually applied to males but Natalie couldn’t think of any other to categorize the long, lean torso, the roped muscle at shoulder and thigh, the flat belly and nest of thick, dark hair at his groin. His sex was flaccid but came to instant, eager attention when she stroked a finger along its length.

But it was the scar that caught and held her attention. Healed but still angry in the dim glow of the moon, it cut diagonally along his ribs. Frowning, she traced the tip of her finger along the vicious path.

“What’s this?”

“A reminder not to trust a rookie to adequately pat down a seasoned veteran of the Cosa Nostra.”